The night was heavy with ash. They camped at the edge of the canyon, the smoke trail fading into the horizon. Kael sharpened his blade in silence, the rasp of steel against stone the only sound.
Elira watched him. The crown pulsed faintly against her chest, whispering the memory again: Marlic reaching, Kael turning away. Betrayal. Or sacrifice. She couldn't tell. But she couldn't carry it alone anymore.
"Kael," she said.
He looked up, eyes steady. "What is it?"
She hesitated, then spoke. "Why weren't you chosen?"
The words hung between them, sharper than any blade. Kael's hand stilled. His jaw tightened. For a moment, he said nothing.
Finally, he set the blade aside. "Because the crown saw hunger in Marlic. And shadow in me."
Elira leaned forward. "But the vision… it showed you turning away. It showed him reaching for you."
Kael's eyes darkened. "You saw that?"
She nodded. "Was it betrayal?"
His voice was low, almost breaking. "No. It was mercy. If I had taken his hand, the fire would have consumed us both. I let him fall… because I thought I could save him later."
Elira's mark flared. The crown pulsed harder, as if listening.
Kael turned away. "And I failed."
Elira's chest tightened. The silence between them was no longer empty—it was full of fire, memory, and doubt.